A Decade’s Worth of Debauchery

So I read today that Japanese women would rather remain single. That on top of reading a few months back that a large percentage of Scottish men prefer the single life. It makes a lot of sense to me. Think about it, total autonomy. Want cereal and that take out from last week for dinner? Go for it. Want to channel surf for the next four hours? It’s all yours.

Problem is, it gets dull, not to mention the takeout gets funky and there’s no one there to take care of you when you’re doubled over driving the porcelain bus, swearing you’ll put dates of purchase on all your Thai noodles from now on.

Today, however, I am all about marriage, 100 percent enamored with the idea, but not because I wound up hung over, watching the white-dresses-and-babies channel (or whatever the hell that scary women’s network is) and, in my vodka-soaked state have been brainwashed to believe that married life is the holy grail. Nah.

Paris-Nice was on the telly and, fact is, I’ve got a way better reason: Darrell and Jon.

Going back to the Stoli-on-the-brain, I am fortunate enough to be friends with two of the coolest men going, who happen to have taken a trip, and vows, last year in my old stomping grounds – San Francisco. On top of that, they’ve been together for a decade (A DECADE! I don’t even remember what I was doing a decade ago… but that’s another story!), and last night they threw us all a blow out party at a fantastic gallery to celebrate.

Toasts were made to the strength and longevity of their union, tears were spilled, and today, despite a throbbing headache resulting from many, many such touching toasts, I gotta’ say it was pretty goddamned cool, and things like that tend to get you thinking: oh how sweet. How wonderful it could be, can be, must be. Oh, I gotta’ get me some of that…

That is, until you meet them for brunch and they’re bickering and make you sit in between them… reminding you that it’s real life, not a made for TV movie and it’s the good, bad and bitchy you get in one big ol’ pretty package. So you order a bloody mary, entertain the notion of entertaining the notion of not running in the opposite direction when someone of the opposite sex comes on to you….and in the meantime wonder what kind of leftovers you’ve got lurking in the back of the fridge…